“Hon’shu!” He heard his commander’s voice yell over the roar of battle. “Get those Orcs BACK! NOW!”
His commander was a stout, ruddy man with scars up and down his arms and across his face. His eyes blazed with fury and focused hatred.
Hon’shu’s sword sang its song of death as it darted in out and out of the greenish horde. A blur of steel, followed by the spray of blood showered his senses. The red liquid that dripped down his face narrowed his vision. Fear kept him moving during those few weeks.
“Argh!” He heard his commander yell, a spear had penetrated his breastplate, just below the ribcage. The monster that had attacked him did not live long enough though to see if his attack had done the commander in.
“Sir!” Hon’shu remembered yelling, just before his commanders head was lobbed off by a skeletal warrior.
They were hopelessly outnumbered. They always were. The more they killed, the more were raised the next day to fight in place of the fallen. Bodies were piled up in great pyres in front of the keep and burned in attempt the stem the tide of undead monsters that could be raised the next day. The foul, rancid stench of burning flesh could never be washed from his skin and hair. He began to shave his head in attempt to keep some of the smell from lingering. But it was no use. It is sweet, pungent odor had sunk into his nose and embedded itself in memory.
He blinked and cleared the vision from his eyes. The fireplace once again appeared before him and he took a deep drink from his glass before refilling it.
After those first weeks, he learned not to care as much. There was no room for compassion. He had to continue among the chaos of battle despite the open wounds in his soul. Nothing in all his training had prepared him for what he had seen at Fort Point. He executed each battle more and more efficiently and soon fewer and fewer people close to him died at the hands of the Fire Isle Mages and the horde of Orcs.
Years before. Before his time in the Swords of Justice, he knew the Mages had successfully invaded and conquered Xecu’tran, far to the north of Xonthian City. During the first years of war, the vile Mages occupied a small island south west of Xecu’tran where they pushed north east to occupy a small uninhabited section west of Cettera where they then launched an assault on the capitol city. The strength they had exerted to invade the northern continentcould have been Xonthians downfall, but they were spared the same fate.
The Clerics of Gate’har had agreed to assist in the war efforts after that. With their help, Xonthian was able to keep the Fire Isle Mages from pushing further then Fort Point and the Wall of Ages.
Because he was well learned in history and studied past battles as a morbid hobby as a child, he was well adverse in large scale strategy. He knew the importance of holding the pass at all cost. He and his men did so, with a growing amount of sacrifice that overshadowed the entire war from that point on.
Hon’shu swung back the liquid in his glass, his gaze falling to the fire, it’s tendrils of flame danced seductively in its stone prison, begging to be let lose. He filled his glass and took another long swig of his whiskey. Hissing between his teeth as the warmth stung his throat.